


How to please your house spirit

by Lesatha



Series: A guide to living with a house spirit [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Curly Fries, House Spirit Stiles, M/M, Magic Stiles, Mentions of knotting, Minor Character Death, Sterek Week 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 08:18:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8394178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesatha/pseuds/Lesatha
Summary: Derek startled awake in the middle of the night. For a split second he didn’t know why, then as he felt a strange weight on his chest, he raised his head and looked down. And stayed speechless.There was a tiny creature, barely the size of Derek’s whole hand, sitting on him. It had a human shape, from what Derek could see.It looked furious.





	

Derek liked his new home the second he stepped inside. Not as much as his old family house, of course, but he couldn’t stay in Beacon Hills any more. Maybe he would return one day, if he managed to get rid of his Kate-related problem. Until then, he would live in this old little house, abandoned in a remote preserve. It was so similar to his previous house that it almost hurt, but the estate hadn’t cost a lot and hunters wouldn’t find Derek there. He hoped so, at least.

For now the house looked a bit gloomy with its lack of furniture and windows without curtains. However, and that left Derek puzzled, it wasn’t dirty. There was no dust on the windows, no dirt on the floor even though the previous owner hadn’t lived there for several years. Derek would have to repair some parts of the roof and put fresh paint on most of the walls, but this house wasn’t the ruin it should be. The werewolf shrugged the issue away. Perhaps the old owner sometimes came back to clean.

Whatever the reason, Derek didn’t complain. He brought in the few pieces of furniture he had and that was it, he had settled in his home made of old wood and bright rooms. He needed to add some carpets and to decorate the whole place so that it became warmer. For now, there was nothing more than his stuff, basic kitchen equipment and an old stove. The werewolf had to check if it still worked or if he should throw it away. He wasn’t in a hurry. For now he would enjoy his newfound peace.

 

***

 

Derek’s slight suspicion about the cleanliness of the house turned to stupefaction the next morning. He clearly recalled leaving his plate and cutlery on the table after eating, planning to wash it later. Except someone had already done that.

Eyes wide, Derek ran his thumb on the plate. No remains of grease or food. Unless he had done that himself while sleepwalking –and he didn’t sleepwalk– someone came into his house. And he didn’t hear any of it. Impossible.

The werewolf let his claws free and checked every room, careful and silent. Then the outside, without getting more results. He didn’t detect any new smell, didn’t spot any sign that someone walked in the grass surrounding his house. On an impulse, Derek stormed back inside, grabbed the plate and scented it. Nothing apart from the usual smell surrounding this house, as if the plate had washed itself. Maybe Derek was so exhausted the day before he didn’t remember doing it. He put the plate back on the table, eyeing it suspiciously, and headed outside.

The roof wouldn’t repair itself, he was sure of that.

But it seemed the tools Derek used went back by themselves into their toolbox, as he noticed the following day. He had left a hammer and several nails near the toolbox, not inside of it. Just like the night before, he hadn’t heard anyone in or near the house, neither smelled anything out of the ordinary. Derek had to find what was going on. That evening, he purposefully left his dirty plate on the kitchen table with breadcrumbs scattered around it.

Derek went to bed like he did the days before, careful not to display unusual behavior. He had an intruder in his house; that was clear. He laid still for hours without falling asleep, all senses on high alert. Not a sound came from the kitchen. The werewolf stifled a yawn. He had to stay awake a bit more, even though the final repairs he performed on the roof had left him tired. He couldn’t fall asleep.

 

***

 

Derek startled awake in the middle of the night. For a split second he didn’t know why, then as he felt a strange weight on his chest, he raised his head and looked down. And stayed speechless.

There was a tiny creature, barely the size of Derek’s whole hand, sitting on him. It had a human shape, from what Derek could see.

It looked furious.

“Breadcrumbs?” the small thing exclaimed, and Derek flinched at the unexpected little voice. “Breadcrumbs? I clean your plate, tidy your mess and that’s all you leave for me?”

The creature jumped on its feet and threw something at the werewolf. The incriminated breadcrumbs, which bumped on Derek’s nose before falling on the mattress. He blinked at the boy –it was tiny, but seemed to be a boy– who raised an accusing finger and stepped up Derek’s chest. The werewolf felt more anxious than he would like to admit, with the small… fairy? Elf? Whatever, so close to his throat.

“Breadcrumbs,” the creature hissed between its teeth. “No one ever dared…”

“I’m sorry!” Derek blurted. “I swear, I had no idea… I don’t even know what… who you are, I mean.”

He thought it would appease the creature, but its face darkened and it took another step towards Derek’s throat, forefinger pointed at his nose.

“I’m the guardian of this house, but don’t expect it to stay that way if you give me _breadcrumbs_.”

“Guardian?”

“Yes. A Domowoj. Don’t you know anything?”

Derek wanted to ask what that was but he got the impression it wouldn’t brighten the little creature’s mood, so he nodded. He would have time to do some research later –for now he had to make sure the _guardian_ of the house wasn’t going to claw one of his eyes out.

“Did you wash my plate and take care of the tools?” Derek asked. He still wasn’t sure he could believe this was real.

“Did you listen to a word I said?” the Domowoj replied, throwing his arms in the air. “I’m here to protect this house and take care of it. But if you think you can parade around without offering anything better than breadcrumbs…”

“I won’t do it again,” Derek promised quickly. “Tell me what you like and I’ll give to you. Also, uh… I don’t mean any offense, but I don’t need you to clean and tidy, or anything. You don’t have to do it, you know.”

He shouldn’t have said this and he swallowed loudly when the Domowoj’s eyes lit up with a scary glint.

“This is _my_ house,” the creature hissed. “And it’s been left unattended for too long already.”

Derek raised both hands in surrender. The Domowoj almost lost his footing at the unexpected movement and glared at the werewolf.

“Okay, okay. I’ll take care of this house too, you know,” Derek said. “You don’t have to worry.”

“Good.” The Domowoj flashed him his first grin. “You did great on the roof.”

For some unknown reason, the werewolf felt better having this odd, tiny boy’s approval.

“I’m Derek, by the way.”

“Derek.” The Domowoj muttered his name under his breath a few more times. “I’m Stiles.”

“Nice to meet you, Stiles.” Three minutes ago this would have been a complete lie. Now, not so much. “So, what food should I get you?”

“Hmm. The family who lived here before you often left me honey.” Stiles scratched his head, messing with his dark curls. “I like it, although it sticks everywhere. Strawberry jelly. Yes, you can make amend with that. Also, you need to repair the stove.”

Derek wasn’t sure the stove would ever work again, but he had no desire to cross Stiles for the second time tonight.

“Strawberry jelly and a working stove. I’ll do my best,” Derek declared.

With that reassurance, Stiles trotted away, hopped off the bed and disappeared in the darkness. Derek found it hard to go back to sleep after this encounter.

 

***

 

Derek's first decision after waking up was to check the stove. He glanced all around the kitchen, expecting to see the terrifying little creature jumping out of a cupboard or from under a shelf. But as always, there was no trace of him. Perhaps Stiles was nothing more than a dream? No, he wouldn't fool himself into thinking it was so easy.

The werewolf sighed as he inspected the stove. A Domowoj. He had never heard this word before, didn't even know from which language it came from. Why, why did he buy the one house who sheltered a vindictive house spirit? And why was this damn stove so important? At least it wasn't broken, unlike Derek initially thought. It was an old wood stove, a bit dusty here and there, and Derek would have to repair its door. Apart from that and a good cleaning, everything seemed fine. Derek hit the pipe connected to the stove and dust flew into the air.

An outraged screech pierced Derek's ears and he backed away, fangs ready to drop down. The scream came from the stove, but Derek refused to believe he had a somehow living stove in addition to a house spirit. Nope.

He heard some ruffling, muttering, coughing and at last a small figure crawled out from under the stove, arms flailing at the dust still falling from the pipe. Derek bit the inside of his cheek at the sight and stuck his closed fist in front of his mouth to hide the grin he couldn't quite repress. Even the heated glare Stiles cast him did nothing to tamper his amusement.

“What were you doing?” the Domowoj hissed, stomping towards Derek until they stood toes to toes, although he had to crane his neck to look up at the werewolf.

Derek knelt, careful not to crush Stiles and curious to see more of him. Now that they stood closer to each other in broad daylight, he noticed how everything in this tiny face was much too adorable for such an irascible being, from the upturned nose to the beauty marks. He looked nothing like how Derek pictured a house spirit.

“I was repairing the stove, like you asked-”

“You mean you made noise and scared me and _woke me up_ ,” Stiles growled.

Only then Derek realized how all this sudden noise could have frightened the small spirit, how it probably sounded much louder for him. The werewolf fought the urge to cup him in both hands, like he would for a hurt bird.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I had no idea you slept there.”

“I'm a Domowoj. I always sleep under the stove,” Stiles replied, raising his eyebrows as if to point out Derek's ignorance. “You don't know a single thing about house spirits, do you?”

Derek shook his head and sat down in a more comfortable position. He was in for another lecture -one he didn't mind, actually. Stiles considered him for a short moment then raised both arms above his head, much like a kid asking to be picked off the ground. The werewolf hesitated. His fingers seemed so huge compared to the Domowoj's arms. Derek tensed like he did when he grabbed a bug to put it outside of a room, mindful not to crush a leg or a wing. Perhaps a house spirit wasn't so fragile but the werewolf wouldn't take any chance, so he held his palm in front of Stiles. The Domowoj gave him a surprised, crooked grin, stepped onto the open palm and sat cross-legged. Derek raised his hand until they were at eye-level. He curled his fingers slightly and Stiles leant back against them, looking as comfortable as if he were in a chair. Derek's stay in this house became stranger with every new day. He didn’t mind at all.

“So,” Stiles began, clearing his throat. He was the smaller of the two, but Derek felt like a kid in front of a teacher. “Since you don’t seem familiar with house spirits _at all_ , I’ll try to explain everything clearly. Like I told you yesterday, I take care of the house. But I have some basic needs.” Stiles raised his thumb as he shot Derek a dark look. “First, food.”

Apparently, Stiles wasn’t ready to forget the breadcrumbs incident. He raised a second finger.

“Second, heat. This house has been cold and unoccupied for far too long. I feel like a living icicle.” The small spirit straightened a third finger. “Last but not least, I sleep during the day. Which is why I’ll kindly ask you not to hit the stove and try to smother me with dust and ash while I rest.”

Stiles punctuated his tirade with a mighty glare.

“What if I don’t want you to, like, clean the kitchen or do anything in the house?” Derek asked. “I can take care of that alone.”

The Domowoj’s offended look probably meant Derek had worsened his situation.

“This is _my house_. Didn’t you listen?”

“Okay, okay, I didn’t want you to feel… pressured, or something.” Derek sighed. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit no one was likely to pressure Stiles into doing anything. “Can I ask you one last thing?”

He prayed it wouldn’t bring the tiny creature’s wrath upon him once again.

“Yes.”

“You said you’re a Domowoj. What language is this?”

Stiles looked down for a few seconds, small feet tapping nervously on Derek’s hand.

“It’s Polish. I arrived here with a Polish family a long time ago. The family always takes the Domowoj with them when they settle in a new house. Or when they leave it. But, you know…” He shrugged, but he couldn’t mask the sadness invading his scent. “They left one day and I’m still here.”

He got up and turned around, straightening the rough fabric that served as his tunic. Derek lowered his hand to the ground to let him hop down. This conversation was clearly over.

Before Stiles crawled back under the stove, Derek bent down to check his sleeping place. He saw a small cardboard box and nothing else.

“I could make you a better bed,” Derek suggested.

He didn’t feel that safe about keeping cardboard under a working stove. Besides, no matter how Stiles went from being annoying to terrifying, it didn’t feel right to have him sleep there. Even though he currently eyed Derek as if trying to sense a trap.

“How would you proceed?” the Domowoj asked.

“What about a wooden box with some padding inside?”

Stiles glanced between his cardboard and Derek several times, then clapped his hands and grinned.

“Great idea. But don’t worry about the padding, I’ll take care of it.”

The sudden glee in his voice worried Derek a little, but he didn’t question Stiles’ decision. He had done enough questioning for today.

 

***

 

The new human –or not completely human, Stiles felt something strange about this one– hadn’t lied when he mentioned that bed. He set up a nice wooden box in corner of the kitchen where no one would accidentally hit it. He even pierced a hole in it, like in some bird house, perhaps worried Stiles wouldn’t manage to lift the lid. That was very considerate of him.

Stiles smiled when he slid inside. The thickness of the wood would protect him from the cold floor, better than his thin cardboard. And although the box was further away from the stove than Stiles would have preferred –Derek insisted– he would still feel its warmth once it worked again. Now, Stiles had to find some comfy material to roll around him. He had ideas about it, but he needed to wait until Derek left the house for a while.

He didn’t wait for long. A few days after he got his box, Stiles heard the front door close behind Derek. Perhaps he was leaving to buy more jelly? The one he left for Stiles every evening was perfection. Stiles’ initial opinion of him might have been too harsh.

The Domowoj didn’t waste time and rushed to Derek’s room. He used his magic to grow into a bigger size, because these stairs? Horrendous. Also, it granted him better access to Derek’s wardrobe. Within minutes, he found what he was looking for. A soft, fluffy scarf. Not the most beautiful, slightly worn out, but with a nice smell on it. Cradling the scarf between his hands, Stiles ran back to his box. He folded the scarf in two and placed it inside. With the remaining length, he would be able to wrap the fabric several times around his body. Perfect.

Stiles closed his box, shrank back to his usual size and shimmied through the hole. A long moan escaped him as he flopped down on the scarf and buried himself between its layers. He curled into a ball, a lazy smile floating on his lips, and pulled the scarf tighter around him. He drifted to sleep, knowing Derek would come back in a short while. Then Stiles would doze with the reassuring sounds of the man moving around the house.

Stiles generally didn’t interact a lot with humans, even his first family, for the simple reason that they were always asleep when he got up. Also, he didn’t feel the need to speak with them back then. However, with Derek… the man made him curious. So much that in the evening, as Derek prepared some delicious-smelling dish, Stiles emerged from under the scarf and leant against the round opening of his box. Perhaps the man felt his gaze on his back or heard him moving -which Stiles doubted, humans didn't pay that much attention to their surroundings- because he turned and smiled at the Domowoj.

“I found you a new kind of jelly. Do you like fig?”

Stiles licked his lips. Sure, humans generally didn't pay attention, but this one was at least mindful of Stiles' wishes. He crawled out of his box and stirred, taking his time while Derek gave him an amused look.

“I love fig. And what is it you're cooking?”

He tried to sound nonchalant, although that turned out to be quite hard with the salty, mouth-watering smell filling the kitchen. He couldn't help craning his neck to see what dish simmered behind the man's ridiculously large shoulders.

“Ah, this,” Derek said as he filled a plate with some golden food, oddly shaped. “Do you want to try it?”

The man bent and offered his open palm to Stiles, full plate in his other hand. The Domowoj didn't think twice and stepped in it. Mingling with humans was totally against his kind's habits. He didn't care. Derek placed him on the table next to his plate. Stiles had to refrain from jumping among the food.

“These,” Derek explained, taking one of the spirally things between two fingers, “are curly fries.”

He handed it to Stiles, who staggered when his small hands clasped around the curly fry. He heard a rumble coming from Derek's chest, as if he were keeping a laugh trapped inside. Stiles wanted to glare but he surrendered to his initial urge instead and bit into his food. It was warm, crusty and soft at the same time. He closed his eyes as a high-pitched moan found its way up his throat. That was the best dish he had ever tasted. Stiles sat down and took another bite, vaguely aware of Derek watching him, his own plate forgotten.

“You don't eat?” Stiles asked, mouth full of curly fry. His eyes darted to the plate containing so much more of them.

This time Derek chuckled, revealing nice bunny teeth.

“I will, don't worry. Maybe I could give you curly fries instead of jelly sometimes. Except if it’s too much for you.”

Derek's teasing smile wasn't fooling anyone. Stiles would have told him so if he hadn't been so busy making the food melt on his tongue.

“I would like both,” Stiles mumbled around a mouthful. He paused, staring into Derek's eyes. “At the same time.”

“Not sure they'll mix well, but we can try that.” Derek couldn't quite hide his doubts but he nodded. “Yes, I can arrange that.”

“Thank you. Also…” Stiles wiped a salty hand on the rough fabric covering him. “Can I have another one?”

The human almost strangled himself around a curly fry, coughing and reddening.

“Please don’t choke,” Stiles said, “I’m not big enough to pat your back.”

“I’m –I’m fine.”

Derek rubbed his watery eyes, and suddenly Stiles got the feeling he wasn’t just choking on his food, but _laughing_. At Stiles.

“You sure you want a fry now?” Derek asked. He was really good at maintaining a solemn face. “They’re almost as big as you.”

His genuine concern made up for his disguised laughing, Stiles decided.

“It’s for later.”

“As you want.”

Stiles smiled widely. These were going to become his favorite words.

“I thought about something,” Derek said after a moment of silence. “Would you like new clothes?”

“Like yours?”

“Yes.”

Stiles felt a strange sense of excitement warm him. He had never thought much about clothes, but this human made everything interesting.

“Will you sew them?”

“Oh no,” Derek replied, glancing away for a second, chewing on his lower lip. “I’ll buy them. Is there a color you like?”

Stiles didn’t particularly care about colors –he supposed he liked most of them. If he had to pick one… he looked into the man’s eyes.

“Something between green and blue, it will be perfect.”

 

***

Of course his uncle arrived at his new home when Derek was the busiest, and without calling first. When he had Stiles asleep in his box. Waking him up would already be bad, but waking him up to introduce him to Peter? No. Never.

“What are you doing here?” Derek groaned.

Peter dropped his travel bad and leant against the door case.

“Visiting my nephew. Always a pleasure.”

Derek rolled his eyes as he let him inside.

“Be quiet,” he ordered. “And behave. I have… uh, a house spirit.”

He would have preferred not saying anything, but he couldn’t quite hide Stiles. Or, more accurately, Stiles would never agree to hide. Anyway, Peter always found out what he wasn’t supposed to.

“A house spirit?”

“Yes. Don’t disturb him.”

He would disturb Stiles, just because Derek had asked otherwise. So he couldn’t leave Peter alone in the house, but on the other hand, he didn’t look forward to having his uncle with him while he bought clothes for Stiles, and he really had to. Derek had promised the Domowoj he would go today.

“I have to go shopping,” Derek informed his uncle. “And you’re coming with me.”

“Ah, family bonding.”

“No. Having you under control.”

Peter clicked his tongue as he patted Derek’s shoulder.

“I could guard the house.”

Derek shrugged his uncle’s hand off and grabbed his car keys.

“I have someone for that. Time to go.”

“Someone you don’t want me to meet.”

Derek didn’t answer that. He didn’t answer any of Peter’s questions during the whole car ride and certainly didn’t say a word when they reached their destination. He steeled his face and hoped he didn’t blush too much.

“A toy store?” Peter asked.

“Yes. Now, shut up or wait for me in the car.”

“And lose an opportunity to see what my brooding nephew could possibly do in a toy store? No way.”

Peter left the car before Derek could protest and trotted towards the store. This was going to be painful. But Derek reminded himself of the lovely curl of Stiles’ lips when he smiled, and this would please him. The werewolf sighed and followed his uncle inside.

“You know, this is the most fascinating thing you’ve done in years,” Peter said. “Where do we go now?”

“Dolls section.”

“Wha… Is there something I should know? Do you have a child hidden somewhere or…”

Derek considered trying to lose him between the shelves full of soft toys, then resigned himself to his fate.

“It’s for my house spirit. He’s tiny.”

Derek stopped in front of a long row of dolls and sets of clothes.

“So, the house spirit isn’t a joke. Do you plan on buying him a dollhouse?”

Derek’s initial reaction was to groan at Peter’s sarcasm, but the dollhouse might be a good idea. Furniture suiting Stiles’ size, a real bed. Except a spirit might find it offending to live in a dollhouse. It was hard to know with Stiles.

“Just clothes. Like these.”

Derek grabbed one of the few boxes containing clothes other than evening dresses. Then he grabbed two more, ignoring Peter’s comments, which mainly consisted in getting Derek to buy a bright blue horse-drawn carriage. Derek dreaded their first meeting even more than before.

Derek’s mind went through a dozen scenarios on how Stiles would react to Peter while they drove back to the house. None of them satisfied him, nor prepared him for the nervous heat filling him when Peter stepped into the kitchen and noticed the box.

“Don’t tell me… In this box? Is it a house spirit or a rat?”

“A rat?”

Derek closed his eyes for a second at the sound of this little voice. It was late afternoon already. He had been right to fear Stiles would be awake by now –and he wasn’t likely to fall back asleep. The werewolf glared at Peter before moving to kneel in front of Stiles’ wooden box. The Domowoj appeared at the opening, hair sticking in every direction.

“He didn’t mean that,” Derek blurted out, offering his palm to Stiles.

The Domowoj crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Peter. He didn’t make a move to leave his box.

“Who is this?”

“My uncle, Peter,” Derek sighed.

“He’s rude.”

Peter worsened his case, grinning and waving at Stiles, who turned back to Derek.

“He’s going to apologize,” Derek replied. “Aren’t you, Peter?”

“He’d better, if he plans to stay in our house,” Stiles hissed.

Peter pointed his forefinger at Derek, then Stiles.

“Don’t think I plan on staying for long in a house with Derek and someone even more annoying than him, but okay, I’ll admit I was wrong about the rat part.”

Derek gave Stiles a winning smile.

“Rats are much more frightening than you,” Peter added.

“Why don’t you try your clothes?” Derek asked quickly, kneeling between Peter and Stiles’ box, so that the Domowoj couldn’t see his uncle anymore. “I think it will get colder tonight, you’ll feel better with them.”

Stiles grabbed the small clothes the werewolf handed him and disappeared inside his box.

“Okay,” he replied, “but I don’t want _him_ in the kitchen while I try them.”

Derek didn’t hesitate.

“Peter, get out.”

 

***

 

Stiles’ day could have been perfect. It started perfectly, in fact. After a night of good work, he woke up when Derek made his coffee in the morning and set a small bowl of fig jelly with a curly fry next to his box. The human knew Stiles didn’t _need_ food until the evening, but he also knew Stiles liked having said food at any time of the day. Stiles smiled as he drifted back to sleep and tightened the scarf around him.

Then he woke a second time to Derek coming home. He couldn’t wait to try on the things Derek found for him. But he heard someone else’s steps alongside Derek’s, and it wasn’t the human’s appeasing voice that broke the silence. It was his uncle’s. Stiles couldn’t understand how such a rude person could be part of Derek’s family. Stiles hated him already. He hated him even more after putting on his clothes, because they were perfect and Stiles couldn’t fully appreciate that fact with Peter at the back of his mind.

Stiles fought to relax once the humans went to sleep, but he didn’t –although for other reasons. He was bored. Derek was very tidy. No matter how many times Stiles said he would wash the dishes, clean the windows or whatever, Derek still did it. Of course Stiles loved that the human took care of their house, but now he didn’t have anything left to do.

Other problem: the warm days were over and the wind blew strong. Even with his new clothes and Derek’s scarf, Stiles couldn’t feel the warmth he enjoyed so much. He would have to ask Derek to get some wood for the stove. In the meantime, Stiles was cold. For a moment, he considered ruining Peter’s night. It would only be fair, since the man had ruined Stiles’ day. But Derek might not like that.

Derek. Stiles sighed as he stroked the scarf wrapped around his shoulders. His thoughts always came back to Derek. He wouldn’t be bored if he were with the human, Stiles would bet the house on that. Besides, Derek always stayed up late.

Before he started to overthink his decision, Stiles darted to Derek’s room –darted being an optimistic way to say he sweated and panted as he climbed the stairs. He didn’t want to run the risk of changing to a bigger size and have Peter or Derek mistaking him for an intruder. Fortunately, Derek’s bedroom door wasn’t fully closed. Stiles slipped inside. From where he stood, he could see Derek’s feet on the bed if he craned his neck enough. Which was why he spotted the human’s slight jolt when he called his name. A second later, Derek’s face appeared at the end of the bed as he stared down at the Domowoj.

“Stiles? Was there something wrong with your food? Do you want more curly fries?”

A long groan erupted from the adjacent room –Peter’s. Stiles frowned as much as he glared at the wall. The house was old, but how could Peter hear what Derek said?

“Peter!” Derek barked. He turned his attention back to Stiles and added, softer, “do you want me to go down to the kitchen with you?”

“No, it’s not about food.” Although it wasn’t necessary, Stiles went for his best pleading eyes and raised his arms towards Derek. “I have nothing to do.”

Derek picked him up with a fond sigh –at least that’s how Stiles chose to interpret it– and set him next to his giant pillow. That looked comfy. Stiles flopped down on it while Derek lied down on his side, face suddenly very close to Stiles, and very big. Did the man know he had such hypnotizing eyes?

“You work too much in the house,” Stiles complained to distract himself. “Now I’m doomed to wander from room to room every night, useless.”

Derek’s huff rustled Stiles’ hair and almost blew him off the pillow.

“Doomed? Aren’t you dramatizing?”

“No.”

With the hint of a smile on his lips, Derek lowered his head on the pillow. Now that Stiles looked closer, he seemed tired. That’s what happened when you went from repairing the roof to paint the walls, then polish the wooden floor without resting.

“I’ll try to be messier,” Derek declared as he closed his eyes. “Although I think Peter has more potential than me for that.”

Stiles rolled on his stomach to get closer.

“About him… why is he here?”

“You really don’t like him.”

“No, it’s… well, I don’t know. It’s just that you seemed to be the loner type.”

“We had family trouble.” Derek sounded even more tired than before. He opened his eyes and stared at the some point above Stiles. He didn’t look about to cry, but… there was some sort of surrender in his eyes that made Stiles’ heart clench. “So he came to check on me. Give me some news.”

Stiles chewed on his lower lip, cursing himself for upsetting Derek. He shouldn’t have started this conversation. On an impulse, he reached for the first surface available –Derek’s nose– and patted it.

“I hope it was good news,” Stiles said.

The man blinked a few times. Then he smiled, and Stiles could see it wasn’t too much of a forced smile. He had seen better, but it would do for tonight.

“Let’s not worry about that anymore,” Derek decided. Stiles had the distinct impression Derek just didn’t want to share more information with him. Annoying, but he reminded himself the man didn’t _have_ to tell him everything. “You can stay here tonight, if you want.”

That surely shook Stiles out of his momentary brooding. He had hoped to stay here, because he felt Derek’s warmth without even touching him, so he couldn’t picture going back to the cold kitchen now. He already knew where he would sleep best –right there, cushioned by Derek’s neck. However, he had to reign in some of his enthusiasm, otherwise he would just scare the man.

“Thank you. Uh… why do you suggest it tonight, though?”

Derek purposefully blew on him, which pushed Stiles down the pillow in a flail of limbs.

“What…”

His oncoming rant stopped there when he noticed Derek’s grin, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“You, little house spirit, are the one who came here first. I suppose you don’t want to sleep alone with a stranger in the house, hence my offer.” His grin faltered a bit. “I should have thought about this sooner.”

“No,” Stiles said quickly. “In fact, that’s not why I came here. I was cold and bored, that’s all.”

He crawled towards Derek, hands always close to the sheet in case the human decided to blow on him again. Stiles chuckled to himself. Anyone else would have spent a hellish night after daring to do this. Yet with Derek, Stiles didn’t mind. He stood up and leant on Derek’s chin.

“Can I sleep there?” he asked, waving at Derek’s throat.

“Looks like you almost settled already. Yes.”

Stiles squeaked and spun on his heels to curl in the angle between Derek’s chin and throat. Even though he had slept for a good part of the day, his eyelids instantly felt heavier. The tense muscles of his back relaxed on their own accord.

“You’re very hot.”

Derek coughed, making the mattress shake under Stiles. The Domowoj grinned and knelt up so that Derek could see him.

“I was talking about your body heat, of course,” Stiles explained as he slowly batted his eyelashes. “Your temperature is quite high for a human.”

“Yes, yes, I… I understood.”

Stiles might not have been around humans for a long time, but he couldn’t misinterpret Derek’s blushing –which reached his ears. If the man wanted to make inappropriate jokes, such as blowing Stiles off a pillow, then Stiles could be inappropriate too.

“So, you don’t mind me sleeping here?” he asked in an unctuous voice as he trailed his hands along Derek’s jaw.

The man narrowed his eyes, perhaps to hide how dark they suddenly were.

“I’ll try to avoid crushing you in my sleep.”

The way he gently cupped his hand around Stiles to lower him against his throat belied his sharp tone. Satisfied, the Domowoj curled on his side with his back to Derek’s skin and his arms wrapped around the man’s thumb, pressing it against his chest. His happiness reached its peak when Derek brushed one fingertip on Stiles’ head, stroking his hair in the softest way.

 

***

 

Derek noticed the exact moment Stiles fell asleep when the pace of his little heart slowed down, not long after they settled for the night. Derek hadn’t slept with someone for so long he didn’t remember when it was. Did this count? A house spirit was someone. Stiles definitely was _someone_ to Derek. A little tease, sometimes grumpy, whom it was impossible to deny anything.

Or, like Peter said with his trademark tactfulness, Stiles had Derek wrapped around his thumb. The werewolf had to hold back a chuckle when he thought of the Domowoj literally curled around Derek’s thumb. He should call Peter. His uncle would savor the irony.

Careful not to dislodge Stiles, Derek pulled the sheet over him. Stiles mumbled in his sleep at the slight movement and threw one leg above the werewolf’s hand.

“Wasn’t planning to move anyway,” Derek whispered to himself.

Stiles mumbled again and huddled into Derek’s hand, tickling his palm with every new breath. The werewolf didn’t dare lifting his head to look at him, but he lightly stroked Stiles’ back up and down with one fingertip. Holding the house spirit reminded Derek of his childhood, when he once found a young bird fallen from his nest. He had caught it with great care, afraid to hurt it if he tightened his hands too much.

Derek went to sleep like this, idly running his finger along Stiles’ body and hoping nightmares wouldn’t plague him tonight.

He wasn’t so lucky. Images of _her_ assailed his dreams. Even asleep, Derek heard a distant growl followed by a yelp. His eyes flashed open. He was supposed to be alone in his room, so what…

It took him a second to process what he saw: a small shape backing away from him, legs all tangled in the sheet. Stiles. Derek reached out to stop him before he fell off the bed, but stopped himself when he noticed his extended claws. What if he had hurt Stiles? Even if he didn’t smell blood, that didn’t mean anything.

“Stiles, I’m sorry! Wait!”

“You growled!” Stiles pointed at Derek’s face. “You growled at me. And your eyes! And face!”

Derek hadn’t thought about controlling his werewolf eyes for days, mainly because he hadn’t had a reason to flash them. But in his panicked and drowsy state, he couldn’t help it, just like he forgot about his claws –claws that Stiles eyed warily. Everything Derek planned on telling him later, Stiles found out in the worst possible situation.

Derek eased out of his beta shift and made sure his eyes didn’t glow an unnatural blue before he looked back at Stiles. The Domowoj didn’t seem about to bolt anymore, but he didn’t make a move towards Derek.

“Why did you growl at me?” Stiles asked in a small voice.

Derek should have felt relieved that Stiles appeared more confused –hurt even– than repulsed or afraid, but remorse hit him even harder. He knelt and cupped both hands in front of Stiles.

“No, not at you,” he explained as the Domowoj crawled into his palms and Derek lifted him at eyelevel. “Never at you.”

Stiles’ expression softened despite his skeptical pout.

“See, from my point of view, it certainly seemed like you were. Growling at me. Your claws were aimed at me, too.”

“I’m s–”

Stiles jumped on his feet and pressed his hands flat on Derek’s mouth.

“Don’t say you’re sorry.”

Stiles grinned, and although it seemed a bit forced, Derek didn’t doubt his sincerity when he spread his arms wide on each side of Derek’s mouth to hug his face. The werewolf wouldn’t normally allow this but… Stiles tiptoed to embrace him better, stretching his neck to peek over Derek’s nose, and he didn’t have the strength to push him away.

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Stiles repeated. “You already look like you would whip yourself if you had a belt within reach. I know you’re sorry. What I want to know is why you reacted like this.” The Domowoj paused, deep in thought. “Also, a little insight into the amazing Eyes of the Night and the changing face might be welcome. Because all this?” Stiles made a vague circular gesture towards one of Derek’s eyes. “Not human.”

Derek opened his mouth, only to be cut off by Stiles before he could speak.

“And by not human, I mean like the way I’m not human either, you know? Not like, uh, in a bad way.”

“Okay.”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult. It’s just that I’m surprised. Puzzled.” Stiles nodded as if to approve his own choice of words and looked up at Derek. “Scared. Only a little, and at the beginning, after that…”

“Stiles?”

“Now I’m not scared anymore. You’re kind of nice, have great taste in cooking, so…”

“Stiles.”

The house spirit snapped to attention.

“Yes?”

“I can’t explain if you don’t let me talk.”

“Oh. Apologies.”

Derek took a deep breath. He hoped Peter wasn’t listening. Considering his uncle was a light sleeper who didn’t care about intimacy, he had probably woken up when Derek growled and had been listening since then. The werewolf pushed him out of his mind and inhaled deeply again.

“When I was younger,” he began, “a hunter murdered most of my family. Everybody except Peter and me.”

Stiles’ eyes widened as he stepped back to sit in Derek’s hands, bringing his knees to his chest.

“A hunter?”

“Yes. Because you see, Peter and I… well, you guessed it already. We’re not humans. We’re werewolves.” He paused to let Stiles speak –since he always had something to say– but the Domowoj nodded, hanging to Derek’s words. “I fled my town when it happened. When the hunter –huntress, in fact– set fire to our house.”

“She killed your family in your own home? By burning…”

Stiles choked on the words like Derek forbid himself to do. He hadn’t thought about it until now, but the kind of death his family had suffered must seem particularly horrible to a house spirit. He resumed his story before he could dwell too much on the pain.

“I tried to go back to the house a few months ago. Even after all that happened, it’s my childhood town, my home… She came back too and went after me.” Derek shrugged. “Had to flee again. Peter came here to warn me that she’s on my trail. And also to hide from her.”

Stiles remained silent for a while. Then he stood up and more than sadness, there was a cold anger burning in his eyes.

“So it’s because of her that you have nightmares.” Without waiting for an answer –there was none needed– Stiles stretched his arm to stroke Derek’s cheek, a tight smile on his lips. “Let her come here, in our house. She’ll never leave it.”

Derek had to be sure his ears didn’t betray him.

“So you, a house spirit, a protective spirit, would be willing to kill?”

Stiles considered him for a long time. Derek usually didn’t have trouble holding his ground in a staring contest, but he felt like Stiles read into his soul.

“I think you know as well as I do, Derek, that sometimes protection involves some blood spill.”

 

***

 

What was supposed to be a one-time thing became a habit. A wonderful habit, in Stiles’ opinion. Better: after a few days, Derek suggested Stiles could move his box into his bedroom, since he didn’t spend that much time in the kitchen anymore. So Derek grinned, delicately set Stiles on his shoulder and carried the box upstairs, under Peter’s both amused and dismayed stare. Stiles stuck out his tongue at him while he snuggled closer to Derek’s neck.

“I feel like I don’t do anything anymore,” Stiles whined as Derek settled the wooden box on his night stand.

“You help all the time.”

“But I’m not even supposed to… you know, _live_ with humans.”

Derek turned his head as best as he could to glance at Stiles without pushing him off his shoulder.

“Do you feel bad about it?”

Stiles didn’t pause for too long before giving his answer, because he had reflected on this a lot these past few days. His life had never felt so full.

“No,” Stiles purred.

“Besides, if you absolutely want something to do, I’m going to work on the roof. Peter told me he noticed a water leak in his room last night. Right above his pillow.”

“Ah?”

Derek half-smiled, half-frowned at him.

“Do you happen to know something about this?”

Stiles’ heart did a somersault in his chest, mostly because it happened more and more often when Derek looked at him like this, with his full attention, and also due to the fact he was indeed aware of the water leak issue. Which wouldn’t have existed if Peter hadn’t yelled at Derek two days ago –during an argument about finding a better hideout and leaving the house– then threatened to change Stiles into a werewolf appetizer for his next meal when the Domowoj said Peter was more than welcome to leave. So yes, maybe Stiles knew a few things regarding the displaced tiles above Peter’s bed.

“Me?” he asked, pointing a finger at his own chest. “How would I… of course not.”

“That’s what I thought,” Derek chuckled.

“I can fix it on my own, though. It will be quicker.”

This way, Derek wouldn’t have to repair his mess. Stiles wanted to annoy Peter, not him. But the werewolf shook his head.

Stiles didn’t leave Derek’s shoulder as he set up the ladder and climbed on the roof. The truth was he spent most of his time on Derek’s shoulder lately. The house spirit clutched the shirt under him while Derek bent forward to move from the ladder to the roof.

“I can do it alone,” Stiles insisted.

He didn’t like the idea of Derek walking on unstable tiles at this height.

“We’ll be done before you know it,” Derek reassured him.

He climbed higher on the roof, where they had to put the tiles back in place. Stiles jumped off Derek’s shoulder when he crouched down. If it were up to him, Peter would have enjoyed one more rainy night like this, but he still grabbed the corner of one tile to pull it in a more conventional position.

“You’re stronger than you look,” Derek pointed out.

“I have tricks.”

Just like Derek didn’t feel like revealing he was a werewolf at first, Stiles preferred keeping some of his skills hidden for now. Derek might be a werewolf and understand the supernatural, the house spirit had no desire to creep him out.

“I believe we’re almost done here,” Derek declared.

He shifted back on his heels to move a tile stuck under one of his feet. Stiles saw what was going to happen a split second before it did: the werewolf transferred his weight on another rickety tile and lost his balance. Stiles instantly forgot his resolutions about hiding his tricks. He channeled all of his magic and just as Derek fell on his side with a surprised growl, sliding down the roof, Stiles’ hand caught his. Despite his full human size, he felt Derek’s weight dragging him down. The werewolf, round eyes trained on Stiles, didn’t seem to notice. Even when Stiles toppled on his stomach, the tiles grazing his bare skin.

“Derek,” Stiles gasped, wrapping both hands on Derek’s. “I can’t…”

Derek blinked, detailed Stiles’ face up and down, then his gaze trailed to their joined hands.

“Yeah, I’m holding you on top of a roof,” Stiles uttered between gritted teeth, muscles tensing. “But soon we won’t be on said roof anymore.”

He glanced over Derek’s shoulder and noted the werewolf’s legs were hanging in the air, up to mid-thigh. Thankfully, his voice shook Derek out of his ill-timed trance. He pushed forward and put all of his body back on the roof within a second. Never taking his eyes off Stiles, who groaned at how easily Derek got himself out of trouble when he already pictured the werewolf passed out –or worse– on the pavement. His heart still raced, just thinking of it. All of that because of his stupid bitterness against Peter.

“I didn’t want this, I swear!”

 

***

 

“I didn’t mean for you to fell off the roof, promise,” Stiles babbled, fingers clenching around Derek’s hands.

The werewolf winced. Stiles didn’t seem to realize he still held on Derek as if he was going to slide down again, and he tightened his hold as he blurted out his apologies. A distant part of Derek’s mind listened to them, the other stayed focused on Stiles’ very human size. This fact pleased him more than expected, considering he had never given it much thought.

“Why do you smile?” Stiles asked, going from worried to suspicious in the blink of an eye.

“I’m not. I’m not smiling.”

Derek felt his lips stretching as he spoke, unable to stop himself.

“Yes, you are. See, you do it again. What’s funny about me saying I already pictured you lying in a giant cast, stuck in bed, with Peter and me as your nurses? It’s apocalyptic, not funny.”

Derek definitely had been too distracted to catch that part.

“The part about you and Peter does have some comedic potential.”

“No. No, no, no, it’s the worst. Almost as bad as you falling–”

Derek slipped one hand out of Stiles’ iron grip to squeeze his shoulder. The sour scent of guilt permeated the air around the Domowoj.

“Stiles, stop. I’m a werewolf. Even if I had fallen and broken something, it would be healed by now.” Derek squeezed Stiles’ shoulder again as the Domowoj gaped. “Werewolf trick.”

Stiles closed his mouth and looked down for a few seconds. Derek used this time to detail him. The house spirit’s body was scattered with beauty marks, some of them too small for Derek to see when Stiles was in his smaller size. The pale, smooth skin made the werewolf’s mouth water.

“Okay,” Stiles finally said, “but that’s not the real problem. The point is… I lied to you.” He looked up to search Derek’s eyes. “I moved the tiles the other night. But I wanted to put them back, maybe after another night or…”

“Or ten?” Derek gave him a lopsided smile. “Look, I understand the feeling. And even though I don’t approve what you did, I knew it was you.”

“What?”

“Enhanced hearing. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but your heartrate betrays you when you lie. And I can hear it.”

“What… you didn’t tell me.”

Stiles had the nerve to act offended, but it didn’t bother Derek. Maybe because of how Stiles’ bright lips parted invitingly before closing in a charming pout.

“You didn’t tell me you could grow into a human size,” the werewolf retorted.

They could have carried on with their bickering until midnight if the sound of the front door opening hadn’t interrupted them. Derek heard his uncle walking closer and internally winced.

“Derek?” came Peter’s voice. “What is taking you so lon… Why is there a naked boy on the roof?”

“I do what I want on my roof!” Stiles barked.

He spun around to face Peter, oblivious to how he close he was to the edge. Derek jumped behind him and grasped his hips, preventing him from bending down too much. He had reacted out of instinct, but now found himself with what he had tried to forget until now: Stiles’ very naked –and soft– skin. Derek swallowed, forcing his eyes away from Stiles’ backside. Staring at Peter accusingly pointing his finger at them provided a nice distraction.

“If _this_ is the reason there was a water leak above my head, I guarantee the both of you won’t have a single night of rest until–”

“You think I can’t do better than a few tiles?” Stiles snapped. “Keep threatening and you’ll see!”

He pulled forward –maybe to jump at Peter’s throat, at this point Derek had no idea– and the werewolf had to tighten his fingers around his hipbones to prevent him from toppling. Derek bit his lips and stared at the clouds above them, praying all the saints and gods he knew. Anything to drive his thoughts away from the firm flesh under his fingers.

“You were already a pain when you were five inches tall, but now let me tell you you’re reaching new heights.”

“Don’t provoke him!” Derek hissed, muscles tensing to restrain Stiles.

Peter’s eyes shifted to him, as if reminded just now of his nephew’s presence.

“Why are you and the house spirit fucking on the roof anyway?”

“We’re not –how did it come down to this?” Derek yelled, voice raising as Stiles’ renewed his attempts to break free, nails scrabbling on the tiles. “Stiles, I want to strangle him too, but you’re going to fall,” he added, much softer.

Peter rolled his eyes, raising his arms in dramatic despair. However, all that mattered was that Stiles finally listened to Derek and stopped squirming.

“You’re nauseating, with your unrestrained concern and longing looks, nephew,” Peter groaned, ignoring Derek’s glare. “Worse than if a hunter poured a whole bottle of wolfsbane in my coffee.”

Derek swore he saw Stiles’ interest peak up in the way his whole upper body straightened. The house spirit sat up and twisted around to face Derek –half sliding on his lap at the same time. But it was good, since he wasn’t so close to the edge of the roof anymore. Derek took a sharp breath. _Look at the beauty marks on his cheeks, not down his body_ , Derek told himself. Several times.

“Wolfsbane?” Stiles asked.

“A plant the hunters use against werewolves.”

At least it had distracted Stiles from the part where Peter mentioned _longing looks_. Derek was going to kill his uncle.

“I see,” the Domowoj replied, glancing at Peter. “Good to know. Other werewolf tricks you want to tell me about?”

Peter snickered and Derek sensed a disaster coming.

“Yeah,” his uncle quipped, “tell him about your knot.”

“Go. Away.”

Peter laughed at Derek’s growl and strolled inside, probably considering his job of embarrassing his nephew was done.

“A knot? What’s that?”

For once, Stiles’ eyes shined with genuine innocence. Derek’s arms contracted around his waist, which didn’t help at all but also felt so natural it hurt.

“Nothing, just an awkward legend.”

Derek had never been so happy someone couldn’t hear his heartbeat.

“Is that so?” Stiles smirked. “Must be a legend worth sharing. Considering your sudden… eh, colorful complexion.”

“You’re worse than Peter,” Derek groaned. “Come on, let’s get off this roof.”

 

***

 

After all these emotions, Stiles wanted nothing more than rushing to his box and bury himself into Derek’s scarf. The werewolf decided otherwise, dragging Stiles to the room and putting him in a pair of sweatpants while he cleaned the small wounds on Stiles’ stomach. No big deal, but Derek apparently felt the need to pour half of the disinfectant on him.

“We don’t know how you could react to such wounds,” Derek said as he made Stiles sit on the edge of the bed to check he had cleaned everything. “Did you receive wounds like these before?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and let himself fall back on the mattress, arms sprawled above his head. It was nice to have a human size. He preferred the coziness of his box –or Derek’s neck– to this huge bed, but he appreciated it too.

“Stiles? Are you listening?”

The Domowoj folded his arms under his head to get a better look at Derek. The werewolf frowned down at him, bottle of disinfectant in hand. Stiles sighed, sat up long enough to snatch it from his hand and catch Derek’s wrist, tugging him on the bed. Then he lied back with a disgruntled Derek next to him. Much better.

“If I answer you, will you answer my question?” Stiles asked.

“I’ll regret it, but yes.”

“I used to hurt my hands all the time. Pinches, cuts, things falling on my fingers. The second owner of the house said I was the clumsiest Domowoj she had ever met.” Stiles giggled at the memory. He was still learning how to be a proper house spirit at the time. The old woman always grumbled because of the noise he made at night, yet she left him the best cookies. “I always healed fine. Not like you, of course. Happy?”

“Yes.”

Derek’s stared stubbornly at the wall for approximately three seconds, then his eyes wandered along Stiles’ body. The werewolf cleared his throat at the same time a delicious shiver ran up Stiles’ spine.

“You look cold,” Derek declared, pushing himself off the bed. “Let me find something…”

“Don’t try to avoid my question.”

Derek shot him a warning look above his shoulder while he rummaged through his wardrobe. There were so many items Stiles wanted to pick in there, but none of them would fit inside his box.

“I’m not avoiding anything.”

Derek came to the bed with a large sweater held in front of him. Stiles melted a little inside. This was ten times better than the scarf he had borrowed.

“You’ll float a bit in it, but…”

“It’s perfect,” Stiles decided, kneeling up.

He raised his arms above his head until Derek took the hint. For a second, he saw in the werewolf’s eyes the urge to throw the sweater to his face, and he smirked. To his pleasure, Derek smirked back and slowly pulled the sweated down on Stiles, taking all his time to free Stiles’ face.

“I’m suffocating in here,” Stiles complained.

“Be patient. You’re stuck. That’s what happens when you don’t dress up by yourself.”

Derek pulled on the sweater and all of a sudden, Stiles was nose to nose with him. As it turned out, the werewolf’s eyes were just as impressive as when Stiles was smaller. Derek’s smirk widened.

“Oh, you’re not stuck anymore.”

Stiles had a sharp comment ready on the tip of his tongue, he really did, but Derek ruffled his hair and adjusted the sweater on him with so much care Stiles forgot what he wanted to say. He could only stare at Derek’s fingers quickly moving from his shoulder to his wrist as he pulled on the sleeves, sometimes brushing Stiles’ skin.

“I love it,” the Domowoj said. He waited until Derek looked up to go on. “Do the clothes mean you assume I’ll stay like this?”

“Uh… I. No? Maybe, I hadn’t thought about it like this.” Derek paused, his gaze softening. “Yeah, maybe, in fact.”

Stiles wriggled in his soft sweater, unable to stay still. He had to wrap his arms around his knees to keep himself from scooting over to Derek.

“You’ll have to convince me it’s a good idea.”

“There are many reasons this is a good idea.” Derek’s voice lowered to almost a rough whisper. “You’ll like the first one: think of all the curly fries you’ll be able to eat.”

 

***

 

Mentioning curly fries had the effect intended: awe lit up Stiles’ face and he forgot about his _question_. Not that Derek didn’t want to tell him the truth, but he didn’t want to think about all the tempting images such a topic wouldn’t fail to bring up. He already had some of these images in mind.

“What do you think? Should I prepare you a plate now?” Derek asked.

Stiles bolted towards the door and disappeared in the staircase, which might mean he approved. Laughing, Derek grabbed the bottle of disinfectant to put it away, but he heard Stiles’ uncoordinated footsteps coming back to him and a second later, the Domowoj tugged him out of the bedroom by the hand.

“You said _now_ ,” Stiles chided, smiling from ear to ear.

The house spirit didn’t let go of his hand until they reached the kitchen, not even as they passed by a snickering Peter –whom Stiles royally ignored. And Derek… Derek couldn’t really focus on anything other than Stiles. Even while he cooked, he often turned back to the house spirit, always finding him with his chin propped up on one hand, eyes on Derek. The sweater was too long for him; the sleeves dropping lower than his fingertips. Sitting like this, the neck of the sweater slid off one shoulder.

Derek smiled at him, something he did more and more every day. Stiles answered him with a bright grin. The werewolf wondered if Stiles was aware of the sight he made, of the impact he had.

“I’ll add vegetables with your curly fries. Healthier.”

Derek would never tire of teasing Stiles. He twisted his neck just in time to witness Stiles’ features contorting into a pleading expression.

“You can put jelly instead,” the house spirit suggested. “It’s fruit, it’s good too.”

“Sure.”

Derek went back to his vegetables, smiling to himself. He jumped out of his skin when Stiles appeared in his peripheral vision after an unheard approach. Very few people could boast about scaring him. Stiles grinned as he leant next to Derek against the kitchen counter.

“Quiet enough to startle a werewolf,” Derek noted.

“You sound like it doesn’t bother you.”

At this stage, Derek didn’t see the point of lying.

“That’s because it doesn’t. It’s…” The werewolf took a moment to savor Stiles’ devouring gaze. “Refreshing.”

“You like it?”

Stiles slid closer, propping his hip against the counter. The sweater fell even lower down his shoulder.

“Yes,” Derek admitted.

“Yes?”

Derek tried to give him an annoyed glance, but Stiles seemed about to bounce up and down with glee and he was pretty sure it ended as another fond look.

“Aw, look at my lovebirds.”

Derek didn’t give Peter the pleasure of glaring at him –Stiles did it for both of them. But the Domowoj must have been in a particularly great mood since he didn’t add snide remarks. Even his glare had lost some of its usual heat.

“Can I be a part of your romantic dinner?” Peter asked, taking a pack of cheese out of the fridge.

“Did you like sleeping with rain trickling down your face?” Stiles retorted.

“That threat is getting old.”

“I’m a very imaginative person. Remember, the rats you mistook me for? I know some of them.”

“You’re such a nuisance.”

“Derek approves.”

Derek nodded.

“I approve.”

“I won’t fight you on this. Derek would approve of a lot of things when it comes to you,” Peter replied with a wink. “Well, I’ll leave you alone then. Have a nice evening. If you need candles and rose petals, I can help.”

Derek groaned. He had forgotten how unbearable Peter could be.

“Bye, uncle.”

“Yes, yes. Enjoy your evening!”

 

They did enjoy it -except Stiles when he had to taste beans. So much that before Derek knew it, several hours had elapsed and it was time to sleep. He hadn't anticipated the moment where he would stand awkwardly in front of his own bed, not knowing what to tell Stiles. Would the Domowoj feel rejected if Derek said he could shift back to his small size? Or would he feel pressured if the werewolf invited him in bed? He had no idea how things like this worked with house spirits. Perhaps because this wasn't supposed to happen with house spirits.

The werewolf gestured at the bed.

“You can... if you want...”

Good news for both of them, Stiles’ hopeful eyes brightened and he pounced under the blanket. Derek followed suit, now lying awkwardly in his bed. Given his werewolf eyesight, he could see every detail of Stiles' peaceful face despite the dim light. Having the Domowoj next to him wasn't anything like the nights he spent curled into Derek's neck, much like a kitten. First of all, the werewolf didn't have to worry about breaking Stiles with a simple touch. In addition, Derek could fully give in to his fantasies about these lips, now that he saw them full size.

Except he couldn't, because this was the house spirit and they weren't close enough for that, even if Derek practically had his hands on Stiles bare -beautiful- ass a few hours ago. He didn't think about kissing, or _knots_ or whatever when Stiles was smaller than a doll. He just had to keep it that way.

“Derek?”

He wouldn't manage to keep it that way. Because he was doomed, and he knew what was to come.

“Yes?”

Stiles rolled on his side to face him. Derek resisted the urge pushing him to do the same. Looking at the crazed ceiling assured him a better self-control than, let's say, Stiles' slender neck. Or his cute nose.

“What's a knot?”

Derek had hoped he would distract Stiles with curly fries, but he had never truly believed it would work in the long run.

“You're very persistent.”

“Always. So?”

“It's, uh... an activity that occurs between very close people.”

Stiles swallowed as he inched closer and Derek gave in, turning his head towards him.

“Care to be more specific?” Stiles asked.

“Well, this activity entails other activities. Of intimate nature.”

“Such as?”

If he weren't a werewolf, Derek wouldn't be able to catch the widening of Stiles' pupils in the dark or the scent of his arousal. He blessed his genes.

“Such as...” Derek echoed in a whisper. “This.”

He dragged the pad of his thumb on Stiles' lower lip. The house spirit looked down to track the movement but didn't show any sign of discomfort. When Derek put his hand back on the mattress, Stiles' lips curled up and he mimicked the werewolf's gesture. Derek's eyelids fluttered as Stiles traced his lips from one corner to the other. He left his fingertips -just his fingertips, sticking out of the sleeve- rest on Derek's jaw after that.

“Just this?”

Derek shook his head. He wanted to speak, but suddenly his words failed him. He caught Stiles’ hand and kissed his palm, careful to maintain eye contact, studying Stiles’ every reaction.

“Is there also this?” Stiles whispered.

He brought his lips closer and closer to Derek’s, then closed his eyes when he brushed their mouths together. He drew back much too early with a proud grin.

“Yeah, there’s also this,” Derek said. “But…”

“And? Doesn’t it get more intense at some point?” he complained, almost ruining the mood.

“It’s your first time,” Derek countered. He couldn't be sure, but it wasn't a far reach, considering what Stiles had told him about his relationships with humans.

“I know.” Stiles wriggled his eyebrows. “Come ooon.”

Before he knew it, Derek fully rolled over, the sudden movement pushing Stiles onto his back. Eyes flashing, Derek caged him with his upper body, resisting the instinct yelling at him to lick this long throat and leave a mating bite on this soft skin. He grabbed Stiles’ face with delicate but firm fingers, thumb under his jaw and palm cradling his cheek, and angled it upwards until Stiles’ lips were right under his.

“It _can_ get more intense if you want it to.”

Stiles nodded furiously, pushing up to capture Derek’s lips. The werewolf contained his attempts without effort and pushed his head flat on the pillow, chuckling. Stiles, not one to give up, slid his hands down to Derek’s lower back as he pushed his hips up. Derek met the impact with a grin and let Stiles grind against him for a few thrusts before lowering his own hips, inch by inch, until Stiles was pressed into the mattress, only able to squirm sideways.

“Please,” Stiles whined.

“Please what?” Derek asked he nosed Stiles’ hair.

“Please don’t be a teasing asshole. That’s my job.”

Derek nipped his earlobe while rolling his hips down. Stiles’ strangled moan was one of the hottest sounds he had ever heard.

“Okay, okay, keep being a teasing asshole,” Stiles babbled, “just do this again, please again…”

Derek caught Stiles’ mouth under his own, their tongues engaging in a brief struggle for dominance. Stiles –the little cheat– sneaked his hand into Derek’s pants to distract him. And it worked. Derek’s lips parted around a gasp, an opportunity Stiles didn’t miss. His tongue pushed into the werewolf’s mouth, throat vibrating with a contented purr as he explored it –which Derek gladly let him do.

When Stiles broke the kiss and opened his mouth, Derek slid one knee between his legs and rolled their hips together again to cut off the babbling he sensed was coming. The Domowoj whined, jaw tensing under Derek’s hand.

“You talk too much,” the werewolf murmured. He stroked the underside of Stiles’ jaw with his thumb while he lowered the –thankfully large– neck of his sweater. “Don’t you ever stop?”

“Only –only when I sleep. And I’m pretty sure… ah, yes, do it again,” Stiles said as Derek flicked a finger over his nipple, “I’m sure I even talk while asleep, sometimes. You can’t escape it.”

“Oh? I think I can.”

Derek dived on the nipple he teased and lightly bit it, soothing the sting right away with his tongue. A long, approving moan welcomed his initiative. He felt Stiles wriggle under his hand, trying to lift his head. Maybe to get a better look at what Derek did. As soon as the werewolf loosened his hold, Stiles managed to curl his upper body and wrap his arms around Derek’s shoulders, peppering the first surface available –his ear– with kisses. Derek released his now red and hardened nipple to mouth at his throat.

“See? Not talking anymore.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Stiles breathed.

Derek laughed into the Domowoj’s neck. He laughed because for once he was at peace, in a safe place with someone who had sincere feelings. Stiles kissed and hugged as if he offered his whole self, bared his throat without fear.

“You’re such a blessing,” Derek blurted out.

Stiles giggled, wrapping one leg around Derek’s waist to press him on his hardening cock. Derek relished the friction.

“Not what some of the previous owners said,” the house spirit replied.

“Screw them.”

“No.” Stiles pushed his cock against Derek’s. “Screw _me_ , please.”

Derek hummed in agreement, kissing his long throat as he slipped his hand into Stiles’ sweatpants to wrap his fingers around his cock. Stiles hissed and grabbed Derek’s neck to keep him within kissing reach, then suddenly, while the werewolf started pumping him, gripped his wrist to still his movement. Derek froze, searching his eyes for any sign of discomfort.

“What’s wrong? Did I do…”

Stiles blushed as he gave him an embarrassed smile.

“Don’t want to ruin the sweater.”

“It’s no big deal, you know.”

Derek bent down and kissed the tip of Stiles’ nose. The Domowoj’s eyes sparkled with undeniable pleasure, however he still wriggled out of Derek’s hold. The werewolf raised himself on his arms but remained above Stiles.

“You’re not gonna move more than that, right?” Stiles asked.

Judging from his lazy grin, the situation didn’t seem to bother him too much. Without waiting for an answer, Stiles contorted to take off the sweater –hands _inadvertently_ trailing on Derek’s body in the process– then folded it on the bedside table. He glanced from Derek’s dumbfounded stare to the sweater and shrugged.

“I really love this sweater,” Stiles explained. He wrapped his arms and legs around the werewolf like an octopus. “Let’s resume.”

Derek let himself melt into Stiles’ embrace and took his time to scent him. If he had known this would feel so right when he first met the house spirit… His fingers slid down to tease Stiles’ cock once more. Derek felt proud of every shiver coursing through the Domowoj, who moaned and bucked under him, periodically rubbing their cocks together. A long and shaky sigh left his throat when Derek brought him to his release. He curled up, burying his face into the werewolf’s chest as spasms shook his body a few times. Derek slid a hand behind his head to cradle him close.

“You’re so quiet,” Derek whispered.

“Feel so good,” Stiles mumbled. “What about you?”

Derek had forgotten about himself, focused as he was on Stiles. It didn’t take him long to remember how tense and hard he was when Stiles took him in hand. The Domowoj scrutinized his face as he twisted his fingers around Derek’s cock, repeating some particular gestures whenever Derek moaned or inhaled sharply.

Derek came like this, with Stiles threading one hand in his hair and whispering sweet nonsense in his ear. Whether because of Stiles’ tenderness or his adoring tone, or both, Derek had no idea, but he felt like there was nothing more important than him to Stiles. Or maybe it was an echo of his own growing feelings. He came all over Stiles’ stomach with these thoughts in mind, then sagged on the mattress, trying his best to avoid crushing the Domowoj. Even before he stopped panting, he snaked an arm around Stiles to cuddle him –which Stiles agreed to with unrestrained enthusiasm.

“So, these are the steps leading to knotting, I suppose?” Stiles asked.

“Oh my god,” Derek laughed, “you just never let go. Yes, some of them.”

Stiles nodded, and despite the sleepiness already hooding his eyes, no one could have missed his serious tone when he spoke again.

“I’m glad we took these steps.”

“Me too.”

Derek realized how true this felt as he said the words. This delicious understanding kept him awake a good while after Stiles’ light snores filled the room.

 

The werewolf awoke sometime around dawn to an empty bed. He patted the cold sheet, heart clenching when he understood Stiles had left a while ago. He didn’t have any obligation to stay, after all. Perhaps he was doing some of his house spirit work. Derek shook his head at his own silliness.

A disgruntled, sleepy groan broke the silence. Inch by inch, Derek brought his hand towards his neck. It seemed he had misinterpreted everything. In his slight panic, he hadn’t noticed the light body pressing against his throat. His forefinger came into contact with a warm, tiny ribcage.

“Too early,” Stiles mumbled.

“I know, sorry. Go back to sleep.”

Smiling, Derek curled his palm around the Domowoj and followed his own advice.

His second waking turned out worse than the first, and this time for justified reasons. The door banging open tore Derek out of a peaceful dream involving Stiles and his family house, back in Beacon Hills. He crouched into a defensive position before he saw who was there, simultaneously encasing Stiles in his hand and bringing him to his chest. Just as he extended the claws of his other hand, his eyes fell on a disheveled Peter. His uncle had pillow marks on his cheek and his phone in hand.

“What the hell?” Derek growled.

“Yeah,” Stiles exclaimed, voice muffled, “what the hell, Derek?”

“I got a call from an omega I know. Kate’s coming.”

Derek flinched at his uncle’s words. No, she couldn’t, not when he was beginning to rebuild his life.

“Are you sure the omega is right? How could she find us here?”

“Yes he is, and I don’t know. Maybe…” Peter sighed, holding his hands out in defeat. “Maybe she did follow me when I came here.”

Derek took a deep, calming breath.

“I told you to be careful. Okay, fine, we’ll deal with this later. For now, pack your stuff. We’re leaving.”

“We should stay,” Peter objected.

“No way. Plus, you’re the one you wanted to leave in the first place.”

“I agree with Peter.”

Derek had forgotten he still held Stiles against his chest. He opened his hand to cast the Domowoj a doubtful glance. Stiles raised his eyebrows, daring the werewolf to argue.

“ _You_ agree with my uncle?”

“Yes. She’ll find you wherever you go. So we should stay. Get rid of her once and for all.”

Triumphant didn’t even begin to describe Peter’s smirk.

“She’s very good at what she does,” Derek retorted. “I don’t want to risk losing what I still have left.”

“I’m very good at what I do too,” Stiles replied. “She’ll never take anything from you again, I promise. Derek.” The house spirit stretched his arm to place his small hand above Derek’s heart. “I have a plan.”

 

***

 

Derek was cooking when Kate arrived at the house. She saw him from where she hid between some bushes and a tree branch. No sign of Peter. He wasn’t her main target, but she wouldn’t mind killing him too. No, in fact, she _had_ to kill him. That was the only way to erase every witness of what she did years ago.

Kate pulled a smoke grenade out of her pocket and aimed for the nearest kitchen window. She ran towards it as soon as the window broke and smoke filled the room. She caught a glimpse of Derek coughing, stumbling into the table before he disappeared behind a grey veil. Kate put on her gas mask, broke the remaining part of the window and jumped inside.

She spotted Derek right away. The werewolf had fallen on all fours, coughing into his fist. He raised his head at the sound of her boots hitting the tiles and twisted around just as Kate swung her leg towards him. Her heel caught his jaw and he sprawled on the floor. While he was dizzy, she yanked his wrists behind his back to handcuff him. She had planned on finishing this quickly, but who said she couldn’t have a bit of fun first?

Kate caught the neck of his sweater and dragged him out of the kitchen. Stopping in the hallway, she threw him onto the staircase and tore her gas mark away from her face. The werewolf grimaced as he landed on the hard wood, crushing his hands. Then he addressed her one of his deadliest stares.

“I missed you, Derek.”

“Obviously.”

“Don’t be like this. You knew this day would come.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Always so serious.” She grinned as she took a bag of wolfsbane powder out of her jacket and waved it under his nose. “Fine, let’s be serious then. Where’s Peter? We don’t want him to barge in and ruin our reunion, do we?”

As expected, Derek kept his mouth shut. Exactly what Kate hoped. She grabbed a pinch of wolfsbane and spread it on her palm.

“You’ll talk, eventually.”

Kate blew the wolfsbane towards Derek’s face. Despite his attempts to escape, all of the powder hit his nose. He coughed again, gaping to gulp the air. His lungs had to feel like burning right now. Kate propped her foot on the steps beside him and leant closer to his face.

“Where is he?”

To her surprise, Derek’s lips stretched into a wide grin, shaken by his gasps, so out of place it was almost frightening.

“Behind you.”

“Really? This trick?”

“Oh, this isn’t a trick, Argent.”

Her head whipped towards the new voice. Well, not new. Peter’s voice. The werewolf indeed stood a few feet behind her, arms crossed. He nodded at Derek.

“ _This_ is what I call a trick.”

Kate turned back to Derek and gasped. She recognized the scary grin, but this wasn’t Derek’s face. This wasn’t Derek at all. Just a boy –a shapeshifter, probably– in a too large sweater.

“Nice to meet you, Kate Argent.”

His cold eyes didn’t match his welcoming tone.

“Who are you?”

She kept most of her attention on Peter while she talked, tracking the littlest sound from him, another handful of wolfsbane ready. The boy in front of her laughed. Gasping for air as he already was, he seemed about to choke.

“Well, I’m not –not Derek, obviously. And not a big fan of yours.” He sat up, getting closer to her, and suddenly his chest stopped heaving. “Also… I’m not vulnerable to your wolfsbane shit.”

Kate moved to step away, but the boy head butted her, knocking the wolfsbane powder down at the same time. She fell on her side. Peter was on her instantly, pulling her up by the throat. She kicked out once. Peter’s claws prickling her skin put an end to her struggle.

Then Kate noticed Derek –the real Derek– standing at the top of the staircase. He made his way down slowly, glazing blue eyes intensifying with every step. He paused next to the boy and reached behind him, maybe to stroke his cuffed wrists, from what Kate could see.

“Are you okay?” Derek whispered.

The boy looked at him with so much affection Kate wanted to throw up.

“Don’t worry,” the boy whispered back. He glanced at Kate, softness replaced by pure hatred. “I can take care of her if you want.”

Derek shook his head as he made his way to Kate, hand trailing on the boy for longer than necessary.

“Not the loner anymore, Derek?” she hissed.

“Don’t waste your time on answering her,” Peter spat behind her. “Let’s get this over with.”

Kate quickly went through potential counterattacks. She had a gun with bullets full of wolfsbane in her jacket. She needed to stall, lead them to lower their guard. But honestly, she couldn’t picture a satisfying outcome.

“Very mature,” Kate taunted. “What? Don’t you have anything to tell me? Can’t believe that.”

Derek stopped in front of her, within arm reach. For the first time, she was afraid of him.

“It’s over,” he simply replied.

Pain erupted through Kate, from her throat, her stomach. She choked and fell on her knees. She expected Derek to hit again but he stepped back, placing himself between her and the boy. She gasped on the words she meant to throw at the werewolf. Black spots danced in her vision.

In the end, she had no idea who –between Derek and Peter– gave the fatal blow.

 

***

 

“Taking the appearance of the master of the house, uh?” Peter said, smirking at Stiles.

The Domowoj stared at the fire they had lit up to burn Kate’s dead body. He felt rather proud of the way he had kept this particular skill hidden until the very last moment –he had a feeling Derek only allowed him to take his place because they were stuck with no other option. With more time to prepare a plan, he would have found a reason to make Stiles stay away, no matter how Stiles yearned to be by his side. He caught Derek’s hand in his. The werewolf’s fingers tightening around him warmed him more than the fire.

“I guess house spirits aren’t so useless, after all,” Peter added.

“You wish you had your own,” Stiles replied.

“Well, yeah. Who wouldn’t want a murderous, multitasking little shapeshifter?”

Derek looked away from the fire for the first time since they had dumped Kate’s body in it. He wrapped his arm around Stiles’ waist.

“You’ll have to find one elsewhere, uncle.”

 

***

 

The next few days felt blurry, strange to Derek. It wasn’t because of guilt –he didn’t feel guilty about killing a murderer like Kate. But what he had told her was actually settling in: it was over. Derek didn’t have to look above his shoulder anymore. He could go home, have a pack.

However, now that Stiles had entered his life, defining where Derek felt home wasn’t as easy as before. Going back to Beacon Hills without the Domowoj wouldn’t feel like home. Derek toyed with this thought for days. Would Stiles agree to leave? Was he too attached to this house to move in another one? Talking about it with Peter didn’t help.

“Just put him in your pocket and go,” his uncle had said, shrugging.

Derek decided talking might be a better choice. After a week trying to picture how their conversation would unfold, the werewolf took the plunge. He found Stiles stretched out on his stomach, reading on the bed –their bed. He had one of Derek’s scarves wrapped around his neck; the one that had mysteriously disappeared from his closet. Derek’s face relaxed into a fleeting grin, he crawled behind the Domowoj and stopped on all fours above him to kiss his nape.

“What are you reading?”

“A decoration magazine Peter bought me.” Stiles laughed as he arched his neck under Derek’s lips. “In case –quoting him– I want to work in his flat. I think he forgave me for the tiles incident.”

“I believe he secretly admires you for that incident.”

Derek lied next to Stiles, eyes going through the magazine without reading it.

“What’s on your mind?” Stiles asked.

“What?”

“You’ve been distant all week.”

“No, I… I didn’t mean to.”

Stiles pushed the magazine aside and gave him his full attention.

“I know. You seemed preoccupied.”

“I was thinking about my house in Beacon Hills.”

Derek wasn’t always the best at reading others’ emotions, but he couldn’t be mistaking the spark of interest and hope in Stiles’ eyes. This was it. He cleared his throat, praying he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself.

“So, I was thinking about that and…”

He bent over the side of the bed and grabbed one of his shoes. Stiles’ sprang into a sitting position, wringing his hands and doing a bad job of containing his grin. All the accumulated tension left Derek. He didn’t even feel ridiculous, holding his shoe between them.

“Will you move with me to Beacon Hills?”

Stiles’ eyes watered, just a bit.

“To your family house?”

“Yes.”

Stiles threw himself to his neck, capturing Derek into the tightest embrace.

“Yes, yes, yes!” he exclaimed. “How did you know about the shoe?”

Stiles drew back, sitting cross-legged with the shoe placed on his lap like a crown.

“Peter convinced me we might find some info about Polish house spirits on the Internet, and we did. That’s how I found out that a family carried their Domowoj in a shoe when they moved house. I thought it would be a nice way to ask you if you wanted to come with me.”

“Nice? Derek, it’s perfect.”

“Or you can sit in the car next to me, if you prefer.”

“I can’t wait.”

Bouncing as he was, it wasn’t hard to believe. Derek understood the feeling though –his cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Also…” Stiles drawled, wrapping himself around Derek’s chest. “You mentioned the Internet?”

Derek realized his gross mistake and the potential hell he had released upon himself.

“I’ll show you what it is. After we move to Beacon Hills, okay?”

“I have a list you know, with the things you have to show me. Knotting, the Internet, your car…”

The werewolf chuckled into Stiles’ hair.

“You have a great sense of priorities. I’ll show you everything.”

 

***

 

“Whoa… Derek, this house, it’s…”

For once, Stiles lacked words to describe how much he already loved the Hale house. He could only stand in front of it and gape.

“It’s in ruins, yes,” Derek replied.

“But can you picture all the repairing we’ll do? Walls, ceiling, floor. I’m going to ask Peter for like, ten new decoration magazines.”

“So, you’re happy? You don’t want to go back to our old house?”

Derek said it like a joke but the Domowoj knew how to spot the slightest tension in him by now.

“I want to see you happy in your home,” Stiles said. “And I love it.”

“Our home,” Derek corrected with the sweetest smile.

He took Stiles’ hand and led him inside.


End file.
